


If our grave was watered by the rain would roses bloom?

by denouement



Category: The Mentalist
Genre: Angst, Character Study, F/M, but it gets better
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 00:27:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29359500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/denouement/pseuds/denouement
Summary: "If asked how long it had been, she wasn’t sure she could actually tell. The days started blending into one another from the moment she realized it was close to the end. He showed her the list, and from there on, nothing was ever the same.Everything happened way too fast, way too much. And then nothing. Like an ocean, washing over her, taking her air away, drowning her, and when there was nothing left, no inkling of normalcy, no feelings left, when all inside her was nothing but water, it stopped."or,The two years after Red John's demise, from Lisbon's perspective.
Relationships: Patrick Jane/Teresa Lisbon
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	If our grave was watered by the rain would roses bloom?

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I've been talking about this story for a while now on twitter, and I'm here finally posting it. This picks up right at the end of Red John (6x08) and follows the next two years, until Jane's eventual return, on My Blue Haven (6x09). I tried to keep it in canon as much as possible, trying to squeeze as much information from the show itself as I could, and this is my take on what I think happened with Lisbon. This was born from a necessity to know how someone who lost everything so copletely at the end of 608, could just be doing so well mentally two years later, and how I felt kinda cheated we saw nothing of that. This first part covers roughly the first year of that period, and the next part will cover the second. I don't know, however, when the second part will be posted cause uni is coming back. 
> 
> So yeah. I hope you all enjoy, and I'd love to hear all your thoughts, so if anyone could spare a review. The mistakes are all mine, and as always, you can find me on twitter @saclisbon :) (this story can also be found on ffnet, under denxuement)
> 
> Sorry for the super long AN, title is from the song Six Feet Under by Billie Eilish.

It felt like she was living underwater. 

If asked how long it had been, she wasn’t sure she could actually tell. The days started blending into one another from the moment she realized it was close to the end. He showed her the list, and from there on, nothing was ever the same. 

Everything happened way too fast, way too much. And then nothing. Like an ocean, washing over her, taking her air away, drowning her, and when there was nothing left, no inkling of normalcy, no feelings left, when all inside her was nothing but water, it stopped. 

She hadn’t been ready for any of it. But it’s not like that had ever stopped anything from happening. So she dealt with it. 

The phone rang, and she knew, deep within herself, that it was him. 

Lisbon started for it, but the FBI agent guarding them stopped her, so she stayed. She looked around, frazzled. 

(It would be weeks until she heard what he had said. Alone, hidden between shelves of evidence, pressing the buttons with all the care in the world, through a plastic bag, as if these were his last words. 

_“Lisbon, it’s over. It’s done. I just want you to know I’m okay._

_I’m gonna miss you.”_

They may as well have been his last words.)

* * *

The first week _after_ they had been questioned, detained, legally blackmailed, stripped of their jobs and badges, with nothing to hold onto except each other. The only thread of the old still left. 

The three of them kept looking at her, as if she knew where they were going, as if she knew what to do. 

She didn’t even know herself at the moment. 

So they went through the motions. They played nice, they cooperated, they did what was asked of them. It wasn’t time to be loyal, time to play tricks or try cons, it was time for them to cut their losses, to try and salvage anything left of their professional lives before it was too late. 

Slowly, brick by brick, they helped the FBI dismantle the Blake Association, using everything they had gathered over the past 8 years to somehow try to save what was left of the police force in California. 

It took them approximately 3 months, but they did it. Lisbon thought it would take longer, to be quite honest. After all, they had managed to spend God knows how long working underground without no one being the wiser, but apparently the “good” part of dealing with dirty cops was that none of them was too shy to share what they knew to get some leniency. 

Lisbon thought she should be proud of the accomplishment. Her team did what no one else could. They did what others were too afraid to do. 

Yet, she felt nothing. 

She could feel herself slipping, especially the last few weeks of their work as consultants for the FBI. She did her best to appear strong, to give her team what they needed. She could feel the threads of her very self pulling apart, her insides spilling out. Lisbon, however, picked herself up, shoved it all back in with a smile, and took a deep breath. She would deal with herself later, now was not the time. Now Cho, Van Pelt and Rigsby needed her. 

Lisbon felt like an impostor, donning a mask. It was as if she was stuck in a loop where nothing felt real and she was just reliving the same day again and again and again. She did her job spectacularly, she thought she even managed to earn Abbott's respect. She knew that she wasn’t slacking. And yet, she felt like a black hole had opened inside her chest, and it was slowly sucking everything that she was into it, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. 

All she could do was go to work, finish this case, and then deal with it. Offer support to her team, give them what she could. That’s what she could do, so that’s what she did. 

All she needed was to pull through this, and then she would deal. That was all. 

Not that this was anything new for her, having pushed her feelings aside to care for others for as long as she knew what it meant _to care_. But for years now she had been hearing how much of a terrible liar she was and having all her bluffs called, she thought she had lost even this. 

Apparently not. Apparently the years watching Jane con everyone had rubbed off on her, because they believed her. She snickered, _if you could see me now, huh, Jane._

She shook her head. If there was a sure way to make herself lose control was thinking about him, and that was not what she needed for now. Lisbon shelved it as another talk for later. 

* * *

It didn’t take long for Dennis Abbott, the FBI agent in charge of the investigation into Jane _and_ closing the case on Red John and the Blake Association, to realize that they didn’t have information on Jane's whereabouts, and that, if they did, they wouldn’t share. So he settled for second best: he made sure they wouldn’t forget which side they chose to stand on. 

The team didn’t get any credit for the closure of the Red John case, nor for the Blake association bust - not that she thought they would, really. Not after all the stunts they pulled. And if she was being truly honest, she didn’t really care about _credit_ , and she knew that the punishments they received were necessary. She got the worst end of it, her record becoming probably irrefutably tarnished. She had expected that. But Lisbon also knew that the four of them would never again have a job in law enforcement. At least not in California. 

The following week, Cho left the state. He didn’t exactly tell her where he was going, and she didn’t really ask. She thought that if he wanted, he would say. She wouldn’t push. He deserved at least that from her, after ruining his life. 

They all had a nice goodbye dinner, the food was amazing, the drinks giving them a pleasant buzz, but none of them smiled, not really. Especially not her, even though she tried, Lisbon tried _so hard_ for them. This was the least she owed them, to give them a thorough, heartfelt farewell, untainted by her mistakes and by all that she had cost them. 

Cho hugged her before leaving and said, quietly, so that no one else would listen.

“None of this is your fault, Boss. We all chose to go after Jane. Don’t let him destroy you too.” 

If it hadn’t been the years and years of training, she might have broken down right then and there. 

She didn’t hear from him after that, not for months. 

* * *

Van Pelt and Rigsby tried to maintain more contact. She felt like the three of them might have made some sort of agreement, that since the they were staying and Cho was leaving, they were now officially on _Lisbon duty_. 

She wanted to be annoyed, she wanted to be angry, but all that she felt was _relief_ , that at least one part of her life would still, somehow, remain the same. 

Lisbon found out that the place that the two of them shared now was a fifteen minute drive from her house, so they started having weekly dinners. 

Seeing their relationship grow was beautiful. It warmed Lisbon’s heart to know that someone had gotten a happy ending. They truly, truly deserved it. 

The following month, Lisbon slowly observed the two of them building their life from scratch, making plans, enjoying their well earned freedom, at least for a while, before they found their next adventure. Slowly they stopped being Van Pelt and Rigsby, coworkers and underlings, and became Grace and Wayne, her friends. A rock in the ocean that she was still drowning in. Somewhere where she could hold herself up for a breath, for a couple of hours, every week. 

It was a strange feeling, having friends. She couldn’t remember the last time when she had friends who weren’t coworkers. Probably before Jane. Before all this mess started, before her life got eternally changed, when she still could manage a semblance of normalcy. It was new but it felt good to know someone cared. 

She smiled, for the first time in what felt like years, over her second glass of wine, as Grace regaled her with a tale of how Ben had been doing that week. She didn’t realize what she was doing until she could see the small sigh of relief that left the other two. 

Lisbon pretended she didn’t see how they both relaxed, as she nodded for Grace to continue. 

* * *

Lisbon hadn’t been to her apartment for more than a change of clothes and a restless couple of hours of sleep for months now. Since way _before_ . She almost felt ashamed to admit, but even though she had tried not to be pulled too far into the rabbit hole, it had been too late. After Red John got her, she left the hospital straight to work, and that was the last time she could remember that she actually _slept_. Aided by drugs. Since then, it’s as if she took a page out of Jane’s book, restless sleep through the night only being exchanged for restless chase in the morning. It ate away at her, but there were bigger things than herself at play.

Tonight had been no different. She left her keys on the table beside the door, showered, went to bed. When she opened her eyes, it was morning again, but she didn’t feel any more rested than she did before. 

When she turned the TV on to fill in the quiet while she drank her coffee, another segment on the Red John case was on. They had been running these nonstop since _it_ happened. She guessed that’s what happened when the most notorious serial killer in California history got _caught_. 

She heard nothing about it from official channels, however. Not anything except from what she needed to know to close the Blake Association case. And, to be quite fair, she had no wishes to hear anything about it. If she never had to think about Red John again in her life it would be too soon. 

And still, she didn’t turn it off. She just stayed there, watching, unblinking, the tragedy that her life had been consumed by for the past 8 years being aired on the morning news. Weirdly enough, this elicited no emotion from her whatsoever. It felt so far removed from who she was now that it almost felt like another life. A life where she had a job, a best friend, a team. Not this life, this _nonlife_ , this… whatever it was. 

Not that she regretted any of it. No, not for one second. The amalgamation of emotions warring inside her was big, but _regret_ was, for sure, not one of them. Pain, relief, love, hate, sadness, emptiness, excitement, fear… But no regret. 

She wouldn’t say everything had been worth it, however. If she could have had the same results with no one suffering for it, she would’ve chosen that. Her team didn’t deserve what it got, the CBI didn’t deserve what it got, but above all, _Jane_ hadn’t deserved the hand he had been dealt. 

Lisbon was glad that he was finally _free_ . She was glad that, now, he could move on, that he _got away_. _At least one of us got what they wanted out of this mess_ , she thought, bitterly. She chastised herself right after. She didn’t want to become _that_ person. 

The truth was that, she knew that if it came to it, she would do everything again a second time. She would, because, in the end, they got Red John. They stopped a reign of terror, they saved who knows how many innocent people. They had set themselves free, even if it had cost them everything. Even if it had cost Lisbon _herself_. 

It was a strange feeling, because, somewhere along the way, who she was had become so tangled with this sick and twisted tale, she didn’t know how to free herself from it. 

Sure, it was all over, but who was she, Teresa Lisbon, if not the CBI agent, the boss, Patrick Jane’s best friend and sole confidant? Who was she when she wasn’t trying to keep up with this fucked up game of cat and mouse, who was she when she wasn’t being wangled around like a pawn? Without the thrill of the chase? When all the things that had made her who she is had been stripped away and all that had been left was… _this_? 

The loud noise of an infomercial when the news segment was over woke her from her reverie. Her coffee had already gone cold. Lisbon shook her head and went to wash the cup on the sink. 

* * *

All of her years of hard work had been reduced to two boxes of personal belongings and a gym bag that had been sitting in the trunk of her car for a while now. She had been postponing this since the day they had all been released, thrown out the door with nothing but a few tokens to tell the story. _Out of sight, out of mind_ , she thought. 

She didn’t feel like she had the emotional capacity to deal with any of these life altering moments happening around her, but, really, what could she do, besides move on? What could she do, besides putting one foot in front of the other, and try to find some order in her life? In whatever the fuck happened now. 

After closing the trunk with more strength than she should’ve used, Lisbon turned and waved at the FBI agents stationed across the street from her place. She didn’t know if any of the others were being tracked, but she suspected they weren’t. Abbott had clocked how close she and Jane were from the get go, and, if she were being fair, if Jane was gonna contact anyone, it would be her. 

But Abbott was also stupid if he thought she wouldn’t see the government issued vehicle, third week in a row, in front of her place. She scoffed and went back into the apartment. 

She threw the box on top of the others in the corner of her living room that she basically used for storage. Moving the boxes into her place was all she had the presence of mind for right now, really. A visual reminder of what the past 10 years became in the end was more than enough to turn her off for the rest of the day. 

She got a glass from the cabinet on top of the kitchen counter and filled it with water. It was the first day after finishing up everything to do with the Blake Association investigation, the first day she didn’t have to run to the local FBI building. The investigation itself had been done a month prior, but Lisbon, having been the leader of her unit and the person who held most knowledge on the case after Jane, had to finish up a few loose ends, fixing up interviews, going over statements, signing paper after paper after paper. 

Initially, she disliked all of it. It hadn’t really been welcome at all, feeling like the FBI represented nothing but the ashes of the CBI, nothing but the end of the thing she had considered her home, the place that held so many incredible memories. But now, less than 12 hours after she last stepped foot in the building, she would already give anything to go back. She couldn’t have all this _time_ , she couldn’t just have _nothing_ now. 

But that’s what happened. The beginning of the rest of her life. The first day of her new _freedom_. 

Who knew freedom could be this fucking shitty.

She drank the water in a single gulp, shaking her head, trying, hard as she could, to make the thought go away. She hated herself for thinking like that. She hated being this pitiful version of the woman she once was. She _should_ be happy, she _should_ be glad it was over. And she was. She was happy for all the people of California who were safe now, with a newly reformed law enforcement. She was happy a monster had been taken off the streets. She was so, so happy Jane got his new beginning. 

It was as if she was the only one who wasn't happy, and she hated it. She hated that she had sacrificed so fucking much, and still she hadn’t come out winning on the other side. Not really. Whatever the fuck this was now, it sure as hell wasn’t winning. 

How could it be, when she felt like all that she held dear had been stripped from her, when all that she loved had been ripped away? 

Lisbon felt as if she was expected to still be the same, when literally _nothing_ else was. She felt as if someone had reached within her and turned her inside out, and all that she was now was raw, exposed flesh, with nothing to protect her. She was so raw that she could barely move, she was in stasis, completely still, all so she wouldn’t hurt. Any sudden movement being able to rip her apart. 

Amazing how Red John, even in death, had more of an impact in her life than she ever wished he did. 

_Red John or Jane?_ _What is this really about, if not the fact that you’ve been left behind?_

The thought immediately made her stop. She wanted to throw the glass against the wall, but even that seemed to take way more energy than she actually had to spend. 

_Jane_ was something that she didn’t think about. Lisbon barely had enough left to hold herself up, she sure as hell didn’t have it in her to spend the last shreds of her sanity on him. Anything past the “I hope he is happy and having a nice time in whatever tropical island he is staying at” was not something she allowed herself. Not now, at least. Maybe not ever. 

She had more pressing matters to attend to, anyways. Like what the hell she was gonna do with her life now. Officially jobless, with absolutely no prospect or skills outside of what she had honed for the past 20 years or so of her life, she felt lost. 

Lisbon went back to her couch, running her hands through her hair. She hated the powerlessness of her position, she hated how she had burned all the possible bridges she had, she hated how there was nowhere to go but _forward_. 

She never wanted any of this, this was never her choice. This was not where she wanted to be. What happened to the novel idea that when all was over, when Red John was caught, she would finally be able to just _live_? 

It was stupid, she knew that, but she always thought, _hoped_ , at least, that when they caught Red John, what would happen is that they would all come together, they would celebrate, they were free, and now they could actually look forward to the future, instead of fearing its uncertainty. 

_But that’s exactly what happened_ , an unhelpful part of her brain supplied. 

Yes, that was what happened. And instead of the warmth that she had always felt at the prospect of future happiness, all that filled her now was dread. They managed to uproot Red John from their lives, but only by burning everything to the ground until there was nothing left. And that was not what she wanted, ever. 

The one thing she knew she should never have done was her mortal sin: she had _hoped_. She had _wished_. It was not the first time in her life where she had been proved that wishing for things only led to heartbreak. 

She had no one to blame but herself, really. At the end of the day, the mess that was her life was of her own making. 

Lisbon sighed. Her thoughts once again were getting away from her. She hated that too. Not even power over herself she had anymore. She felt like a stranger in her own skin. 

She shook her head. There was no time for this self pity shit, she had a future to plan. 

_A run should do it_ , she thought, eyeing the running shoes beside the door. Maybe the exercise would clear her head. 

And then she could try her hand at this mess again. 

* * *

When the first letter arrived, and Lisbon realized who it was from, her first thought was how to dispose of it so the FBI wouldn’t find him. She tried to act as normal as possible, so that her _captors_ in the government issued vehicle across the street wouldn’t see that something was wrong. And still, she couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down her spine as she stopped in front of her mailbox. She didn’t know if it was all in her head, but it seemed as if time itself had stood still, the sun stopped shining, the very air inside her lungs froze. Lisbon let it out with a hiss, forcibly, when her head started to hurt. 

She turned around, mechanically, shoving the letter into her bag and only dared stop once she was safely inside her apartment. 

The truth was that she wasn’t expecting to hear from him. She thought Jane would leave her life much the same way he came into it: boldly, surprisingly, and devastating everything in its wake. In a certain way, he had. But still, he refused to let go, it seemed. 

In a certain way, she expected life without Red John to also be a life without _Jane._ But apparently he had other plans. She didn’t know how to feel about this development, but out of all the emotions stirring within her, the one she latched onto, the least confusing, the one she was most used to, was the one she saw first: anger. 

How dare he? How dare he do this? Leave, and then not let her go? Not that she was doing a good job at finding her footing in this new world, but the _least_ he could do was let her try to navigate it alone. It was just cruel for him to get a fresh start and not allow her to have one. Her only chance of moving on was to leave this all behind, dust herself off and start again, with Jane being nothing more than a scar amongst many others she already possessed. But how could she, when Jane wouldn’t let her go?

_Why would he even do that? Unless..._

At the thought, she couldn’t stop the jump her heart did. She tried to push it all down once again before even completing it. She promised herself she would _not_ go there. There was no point in dwelling in something that couldn’t be. Jane was God knows where, and she was here. They were too damaged, too broken, too… everything. There was no point in letting herself wonder about the ins and outs of Jane’s heart. Not even if he risked capture to write her a letter. Maybe not even if he came back. Nothing good would ever come of this. Nothing had come for the past ten years, after all. 

Later that night, when she was laying down in bed, for the first time in what felt like forever she thought about something other than the dread the next day would bring. For just a little while, just until she fell asleep, she let herself think. She let herself dream. Of Jane, of beautiful warm beaches, of the words between the ones he had actually written on paper, of everything he left unsaid. Of everything that he might say, someday. 

The next few days she felt a weight on her chest, her breath coming just a little unnatural, waiting for the news that the letter had somehow led them to him. 

But nothing happened. 

And then, as relief flooded her body, something infinitely more terrifying took hold of her. Just a seed, just a little speck of dust in the deep recesses of her heart. 

_Yearning._

* * *

_Dear Lisbon,_

_I know I should’ve written sooner. Or maybe I shouldn't have written at all. To be quite honest, I’m not sure what I should be doing. I’m not sure of a lot of things, even though I think that now, more than ever, I should be._

_It’s beautiful here. The sun has been out every day, the sand is hot and the water is cold. The weather is so humid it took some getting used to. I would’ve ditched the suit the first day if I could, but it took me a few days till I found a place to buy the good clothes. Which is to mean there isn’t any, except for a local tailor, who is now in charge of providing me with shirts. I think you would like them. They’re very different from my usual, however. A lot is different here._

_I arrived a week or so after I left California, but I couldn’t be sure, all that time between planes and boats and buses was a bit confusing, even for me. At this point, I mostly stopped counting the time here, it seems to be very much useless to do so, since there’s nothing to tend to, nowhere to rush to. A lot of things seem useless, however, once you’re away from them._

_I have so much to say and so little words that could ever express them. I hope you’re doing good. I hope the mess I left wasn’t too big to clean up, but I have every faith that, if someone can deal with it, it is you._

_I’ll write again soon,_

_U no hoo_

* * *

Finding a new job turned out to be harder than she had expected. She thought that with her resume she would get offers in the private sector left and right, but with the fall of the Blake Association, every single private contractor in the state was way too terrified of the public repercussions to even consider new hiring at the moment. 

It had been a week of nothing but nos, closed doors, polite email responses, polite phone calls. 

Lisbon tried not to let desperation consume her, but she was quite sure that, at this point, she had to leave the state. Initially, that had been one of the last things she wanted to do. Her friends were here, her last connection to the person she used to be was here. She hated the idea that she had to leave another part of herself.

It felt like once again, her only choice was to give up, to shed her skin, to become someone new.

It’s not like she had never done this before, she still remembered fondly the newness of coming to California and being unknown, of being able to remake herself from scratch, to abandon the tragic girl that should be pitied persona and turn into her own self, a woman of her own making. 

She didn’t know why, really, but that idea now seemed completely terrifying. 

Stan had called her a couple days ago and told her that she would always have a place with them. She knew they loved her, she knew he was being sweet, she knew him and Jimmy missed her, but the idea of going back to Chicago was even worse than starting fresh. It was worse than giving up - it was defeat. It was the ultimate proof that she _failed._ She had tried the big girl away from home thing, and now, now that she had been burned too bad, it was time to go back. She would never truly amount to anything other than scrawny, traumatized little Lisbon girl. 

Just the thought made her sick to her stomach. 

So, as much as she missed her brothers, even if Tommy was still kinda cross with her and Stan and Jimmy would be too the moment she told them she wouldn’t be going back to Chicago, she couldn’t do it to herself. 

The only way to go was forward. And she didn’t really have any other choice but to go there. 

But what did forward even look like?

If change was the way to go, then change it would be. If she wanted change, then she’d go and get it. She thought a good place to start would be with a completely new scenery. Maybe no more of the big cities she had lived in her whole life, God knew that the one thing she did not miss about her job was the constant death threat and the early calls.

If the voice in her head telling her there was a good chance that she would also find it extremely boring sounded like Jane, she wouldn’t know. She was trying very hard to pretend she didn’t hear it. 

Maybe she would love it. Maybe the small town life would be what she had been missing all long. Maybe the close-knit community would welcome her, and her life would turn around, and the CBI and her team and serial killers and could-be lovers would be nothing but a forgotten dream. 

She felt herself smile. They had been coming a bit easier these days, but it still felt like the skin around her cheeks was just a tad too tight. She kept the smile on for a second longer than it actually felt like being there, stubbornly trying to get herself as excited as she was a second ago. 

Lisbon shook her head and picked up her phone and dialed Minelli’s number to ask for one last favor, that she was not even sure she deserved. 

* * *

_Dear Lisbon,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I promised I’d write again, so here I am._

_It’s been a bit lonely here. I was used to all the life and the noises at the CBI, but here there’s no such thing. During the day, of course, there are all the sounds of the people, but they always seem quite far from my little apartment. You should know, however, that I’ve started a very fruitful friendship with the ladies at the local post office. I can see that they’re already wondering who I’m sending these to. Don’t worry, my dear, these letters are also a secret for me, and I’m treasuring them as much as I hope you are too._

_Usually, though, my only company is the wind and the sound of the ocean. It reminds me a bit of when I used to live in Malibu. It reminds me a bit of Angela and Charlotte and how much I miss them._

_Everything seems a bit less painful here too. Maybe it’s the distance, or maybe it’s the fact that it’s all over. Tell me, Lisbon, did everything start hurting less for you too? I hope so._

_I’m sorry if these seem like random ramblings to you, but I hope you can see they’re a good mix of the usual talks we used to have and the things I never got to say to you. I miss those talks. I miss you._

_Yours,_

_U no hoo_

* * *

Minelli, it turned out, had a friend who wanted to retire. And that’s how, a couple of weeks later, she was handing the keys to her apartment back to her landlord and boarding a plane with less to her name than she had in more than a decade. 

The town, Cannon River, WA, was quaint, small. Quiet. Exactly what she was hoping it would be. 

Two weeks into her job as Police Chief she was sure she knew almost everyone in town. Not a lot of people knew of her reputation or who she was prior to coming here, nothing besides the general “she was a cop back in California who needed a change of scenery” she had spewed in her first few days. She could see the people gossiping, had heard a couple “so there is no husband in the picture?” said in hushed tones at the supermarket, but they were quiet enough that she could pretend she never heard it. It’s not like she wasn’t used to getting the whole “you’re almost 40 and you’re alone” routine. Guess quiet towns still had the same gossip, after all. 

The fact that next to no one knew about Red John was for certain a breath of fresh air. And if they knew, it was as nothing more than a passing news segment on TV. No one asked her about it, no one looked at her with pity, no one thought they could read the pain in her eyes. Something good had to come out of not having been made the public face of the team that got California’s most notorious serial killer. 

Overall, though, she was respected. She hadn’t really connected with anyone, but she could see that people respected her enough to do her job and not bother her. That’s all she needed. That’s all she could ask for. 

It was a bit odd, however, how time seemed to pass in such a nonlinear fashion since it all went down. It didn’t feel like it had been 6 months, she was not sure if it felt like a lot longer or a lot less, but it sure didn’t feel like 6 months were all there was between her and everything that she was before. Maybe the distance of entire worlds wouldn’t be enough to express how much her life seemed to have suddenly tilted on its axis. Or maybe it was the other way around: things changed in such a subtle manner that she couldn’t help being disoriented, as if everything in her house had been shifted just an inch to the side, and now she kept bumping into all the furniture. 

One thing was for sure, however: if the Teresa Lisbon she was a year ago met the Teresa Lisbon she was now, they wouldn’t recognize each other. She hadn’t decided yet if that was a bad thing.

Lisbon had rented a house. It was the first time she lived in one since leaving Chicago. She was thinking about buying it, really. She had the funds she had been saving for a few years now, and she needed to truly feel like she was committing to this new beginning, but she told herself that it just didn’t make sense. Not yet. She didn’t know if this was truly gonna work out, if this was really what she wanted or not, if they wouldn’t run her out of town the moment they discovered her past. She ignored the voice at the back of her mind telling her this was just another way for her to hold onto hope for some stupid dream coming true. 

Her house was beautiful, comfortable, maybe a little bit small, but it was not like she needed a lot of space, being only herself. It was a light blue color with a dark roof, and honestly, she loved it. She had completely fallen in love with it from the moment she saw it, and only a couple of days after arriving in town, she had already picked out all the furniture and unpacked. The unpacking had gone fairly quickly, since she brought next to nothing from Sacramento besides her clothes and a few books. Most of the house had already been furnished, with her buying herself only a new bed, a couch and a coffee table. Lisbon had to stop herself from wondering if Jane would like her choice of couch. It was a stupid thing to wonder about, anyways. 

Job-wise everything was pretty much the same as it had been at the CBI. Except it wasn’t. It was basically like having a bureaucratic job only, with none of the _fun_ parts included. She spent all day at her desk, filling out paperwork. But there wasn’t even a lot of that: she usually finished all the paperwork by 1 PM. The rest of the day she would tidy up, read a book, do a crossword puzzle. She had a deputy, William Martini, that did most of the out and about things, those being the eventual hitting of some sort of wildlife, and a couple of disturbance calls every weekend, most of them consisting of Mr. Johnson, the local drunk, refusing to leave the Pied Piper Pub, down on main street. Mr. Johnson had quickly become her biggest company on the weekends, in “his” cell, where she would let him sleep it off until he was sober enough, usually the next day, early afternoon. She thought she would miss the action more than she did. She didn’t know if that was because she truly loved this quiet life or because she didn’t feel much of anything these days. 

The best part of it all was for sure the end of what she had started referring to as _“the prisoner routine”_. The FBI, she was almost completely certain, had not followed her all the way out here. After spending weeks on her guard, having told both her deputy and their secretary, Henry Ryan, on her first day on the job, to let her know if they had seen any government issued vehicles around town, and not getting any positive answers from them nor seeing any herself, she finally relaxed and admitted to herself that, maybe, she was being a little paranoid. Close to the one month mark, she stopped even looking over her shoulder. She could feel the sameness and safety of routine sinking into her bones as the wariness of it all left her. If a sense of complete and utter nothingness came in its wake as well, she did her best to ignore it. 

The… _not_ best part had been dealing with her brothers. Once she had been truly settled, around week three of her new life, she had had a long Skype call in which she forced Tommy, Jimmy and Stan to share the same virtual space for a couple of hours because she was not about to repeat all of this a second time just because they couldn’t act like adults for once in their lives. Lisbon told the abridged version of what the last few months of the Red John investigation had been like, being that, before then, all they had known was that Red John had been caught and that she lost her job. She told them that she had had a brief stunt in the hospital after coming face to face with the serial killer (thank God she had made Jane her medical proxy after Minelli left the CBI. They had almost not forgiven her for the fake death incident last year, and what she really didn’t need was to deal with three overprotective brothers every time she so much as got a bullet graze. She should get that all changed now again), she told them about the secret organization of dirty cops used to cover up each other’s crimes and how, on the way of dismantling it and catching Red John, the CBI came crashing down and she was the one to take the fall for it. After finishing up, she had to spend another hour talking down three extremely angry and stubborn Lisbons from trying to rally in her favor against the FBI. It was sweet, not that it mattered much. 

In a way, she felt closer to her family than she had since leaving home. She figured that, maybe, since she lost everything, nothing easier than to turn back to what she knew would always be there in the end. Or at least she hoped so. Lisbon knew she was looking all around for a safe haven, latching onto anything she could find, and if her family could provide it for her, so be it. 

They were still the same idiotic brothers who refused to get over themselves and talk out their shit, who spent more than half of the call interrupting her to express their opinions on the matter - and then spent another 5 minutes just discussing with each other -, who she could barely spend more than a few days with without feeling like she wanted to blow someone’s brain out, but she also couldn’t be away for too long. 

They were family. And that was in short supply lately in her book.

* * *

_Dear Lisbon,_

_The weather has changed. It rains almost everyday now, so I’m mostly confined to my apartment. That means more time to write you, even though words still seem fleeting. I wish you were here, I’m sure that seeing your face would make everything just a bit easier._

_The other place I’m finding some reprieve from the rain is in the library. I gotta say, I’m very aware of how terrible my spanish is, but I think reading spanish is, by far, most difficult. All I could find was exactly three novels in English, and I think I’ve read each twice already. Once more and I fear my memory palace might become cluttered with passages that are so utterly boring that I’d never want to enter it again._

_It’s been six months since I last saw you. By the time this letter reaches you, this will officially have been the longest we’ve gone without talking to each other in our acquaintance. It’s proving to be more difficult than any other time, especially since our separation this once seems to be incredibly senseless. When I pictured the end, I pictured myself going with him, so I never allowed myself to imagine a future. But if I did, I’d like to think that you’d somehow be in it. So you can see how this is a bit disappointing._

_On another note, breathing seems easier. Every day I feel lighter. The rain seems to wash away quite a few things here. I hope it’s the same for you._

_Thinking of you,_

_U no hoo_

* * *

The next several months Lisbon wouldn’t be able to tell if time stood still or passed too fast, because in her life, nothing happened. 

She woke up, did her morning run, stopped at the cafe on the way to work, chatted amicably with Linda behind the counter. She sat behind her desk, read the morning reports, wrote the necessary paperwork. She ate whatever Henry brought her from the deli for lunch, read a book. She had read more books the past few months than she had read in the last 15 or so years. Lisbon didn’t know if she should feel proud or embarrassed of the growing list of books she was taking from the library with every passing week. 

Sometimes, when everything seemed just a little too oppressive and lonely, she would go to Seattle, find someone, spend the weekend. Lisbon paid no mind to the fact that, even though she had always had this type of love life, if it could even be called that, lately, it all seemed even more meaningless. The numbness, upon return, just a little more pronounced. She never felt quite satisfied, could never get lost quite the way she used to, the loneliness always lurking just at the back of her mind, at the edge of her consciousness. 

Life turned out to be nothing more than an endless routine, as if she was filling a blank space, a space that could be filled by anyone, really, not necessarily her. All the hopes she had to somehow end up connecting with people here were slowly dying down. It had been months, and still, nothing. Lisbon didn’t know where she went wrong. She didn’t remember doing anything different in Sacramento or San Francisco, and yet, this once, she had literally no one in her life.

Amongst all the oblivion, her feelings seemed to be… mostly absent. She thought it would be harder with everything going on and with how alone she felt. She thought it would hurt more. After all, in the first two months she could barely breathe, could barely move, had no idea how to even exist in a place where all her life had been turned upside down. She had no idea what she had done to change that, but whatever this was, was definitely better than that. Whatever this was, this numbness, it was definitely better than raw, unadulterated pain. 

If her skin still felt like it was not her own, if she felt like she was in someone else’s body, living someone else’s life instead of somehow feeling like she managed to patch herself together, then so be it. Maybe that’s what it felt like to start again. To purge oneself of everything that one was to make the best of it. Like she had somehow managed to maintain nothing of the old, not even her soul. An entirely new self. A self who was not Teresa Lisbon. At least not Teresa Lisbon the team leader, Teresa Lisbon the Senior Agent. 

Teresa Lisbon who had a place in the world and people who were in her corner. 

That one was dead and gone. Good riddance, she guessed.

The only two things that seemed to somehow bring some sense of normalcy, or at least, some warmth to the otherwise frozen void that filled her days, were her weekly calls with Grace and Wayne. For two hours, every wednesday night she could smile at her friends and act like the past ten months hadn’t happened at all. That she would go to sleep, pleasantly buzzed from the two, sometimes three wine glasses she had, only to wake up and go to work at the CBI the next morning, where her team would greet her, with a new case. Where Jane would greet her with some quip and his megawatt smile that could light up any room, even the most dark and hidden places of her heart. She would smile back as he fell in pace beside her, because really, what else could she do besides give in? 

Other than indulging in her own delusions, it was good to know that people dear to her were happy. Wayne and Grace had started the legal paperwork to create their own private security firm. It would probably take a couple more months until they had it all ready and hired enough personnel to truly give it a go, but it was looking up, and she couldn’t be more happy for them. All her true smiles lately seemed to be reserved for them. And she had no problem with that, they deserved their happiness and Lisbon was more than happy to bask in their light. 

The other thing that helped were Jane’s letters. She’d get one every two, three weeks. Lisbon still had no idea how they were getting to her, since it didn’t seem that they were coming through the usual postal service, she was sure they’d have gotten Jane if that’s how he was doing it. It always arrived to her in just a white envelope with nothing written, waiting in her mailbox on a random morning. She had no idea how he had even gotten her address once she moved, but he had, somehow. To be honest, she shouldn’t have doubted, he was Jane after all. 

Content-wise, the letters were… interesting, to say the least. They were a mix of Jane talking about whatever his routine consisted of in the past few weeks and... feelings. Lisbon didn’t really know how to classify them, he didn’t particularly reveal anything or say anything she didn’t already somehow know. She knew these words, had felt them, whenever she allowed herself to think about him, about _them_ , but they still felt like a revelation. Like a breath of fresh air. Because even from afar, even with thousands of miles between them and without seeing each other for months, they still had a connection. While everyone else seemed to just have somehow magically started living a better life, Jane seemed to be, much like her, still struggling with his own demons. He told her life was slowly getting better, but sometimes, some letters were filled with nothing but regrets and despair, with things he wished he would have done differently. And that was something Lisbon could understand. Maybe not the regret, but the despair. The uncertainty in the face of an end. The fear in the face of a new beginning. 

It didn’t matter, really, how cold her heart felt, how monotonous her life had become, every morning she still woke up with a sliver of hope behind all the emptiness, the fear, the pain and the uncertainty. And every time she found a letter waiting for her, that hope would grow. Because there was someone out there in the world who knew her. Who saw her. Who understood her. And maybe, just maybe, the future held something for them. 

* * *

_Dear Lisbon,_

_Some days are immensely more difficult than others. The past few I’ve barely managed to get out of my apartment, so I decided to finally use my time for something and write you another letter. This has become a sort of journal for me. Maybe you can tell by the content of them._

_I thought the nightmares would stop once I got what I wanted, but they haven’t. They seem to just have shifted, slightly. Now, instead of death by his hand, there is death by mine. Angela’s, Charlotte’s, yours._

_I’m not sure you really want to hear about these. Worst part about not being face to face with my captive audience is not being able to gauge your reaction. I’m afraid the you in my mind might not resemble you at all anymore._

_This is a short one, but writing this has given me enough motivation to go out and take a walk at the beach, so I’ll do that before my demons find me again. I’ll try to not let a month go by again, and I’ll try to send something happier next time._

_Hope you’re well,_

_U no hoo._

* * *

Life was the same. _Everything_ was the same. 

Lisbon feared that would be the case forever. The one year anniversary of _the day_ was arriving, and time still stood. Life still hadn’t changed. Well, it had, but in all the ways that didn’t matter. She had moved away, she had gotten a new job, she had gotten a box to keep Jane’s now 21 letters, she had put all her things from the CBI in a box at the back of her bedroom closet that she didn’t open anymore. 

If she was truly honest, the only thing that changed, really, were all the boxes she kept now. Way more than she ever had before. 

_Before_ , she had made a point to not keep too much, to find ways to let it out. She prided herself on being someone that could _let go,_ that _would_ let go. She kept what served her, and threw away all the rest, and that’s how she had managed to survive all her life, through all the shit the world had thrown at her. 

But not now. Now the balance she was finally managing to achieve was tethered by such a fragile thread she feared even looking at it. So she put everything in boxes to look at when that thread had grown strong enough that a simple gust of wind or the mere wetness of a cry wouldn’t end it. Her past, her present and her future were nothing more than boxes in the back of her closet, in the back of her mind, that she sometimes peeked into, but mostly kept aside for later. 

It was for safekeeping, she told herself. We put what needs to be safe behind doors. Inside boxes. So that’s what she did. Not that it really bothered her, because it didn’t. You did what you had to do to survive, and if that was keeping a bunch of shit locked away, then so be it. 

A new development that had occurred as the year had come to a close, a very _unwelcome_ one at that, was the uneasiness. There was no way the FBI had just given up so easily on Jane, or on squeezing any of them for information, for that matter. So everyday, the uneasiness grew. She could feel _it_ coming. 

What _it_ was, she had no idea, but the truth was that, for as much as she felt wrong in this new reality, it was all she had, and she couldn’t lose it. For all the empty relationships that she had somehow started, they were still something that bound her to real life. This new _being_ that she had created was all that stood between her still existing and just drifting away into oblivion, into an endless pit of _unliving._

So she protected it with everything left in her. She protected herself and she protected this, boring, devastating, soul wrecking new life. Even if that meant putting herself and all that she was in a box as well. 

A couple of days before the anniversary she got a call from an unknown number. The numbness tried to give way to panic, her mind ready to run away from her with all the possible ways everything could go wrong with a simple phone call. Lisbon took a deep breath and pushed it all down. In a few minutes she devised three possible courses of action she could go with in case everything went wrong. She ignored the feeling of tearing in the threads that kept her in place. 

She took too long to pick up the call and it stopped, only for the phone to ring again in a few minutes. There was no point in delaying it, it’s not like ignoring it would make whatever shitstorm was about to hit her not come, and if there was one thing Teresa Lisbon - no matter which version of her - wasn’t, was a coward. She steeled herself and picked up. 

It was Cho. The utter relief gave way to a smile on her face. It had been more than six months since they had last spoken to each other, and her last piece of news on him she had gotten from Wayne a couple months before, about Cho going to spend sometime with family. She couldn’t quite remember what it really was about, and she felt like a terrible friend for not paying more attention. 

She hadn’t realized how much she missed his voice, the comfort that his presence offered her even from afar. He had been her second in command for so long, someone whom she could trust with her life, and that bond still held tight on her heart. Lisbon felt another part of her warm a little at catching up with her old friend. 

“I’ve gotten into Quantico. I’m starting my training in a few months. I’m planning to go into the FBI” 

More tearing.

Now was not the time. She pushed it all down, made her voice strong. 

“Wow, Cho, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you!” 

“Thanks, Boss. Just felt like letting everyone know.” 

Lisbon leaned back against her chair, trying to relax into the conversation. “You will do amazing, Kimball.” 

“Thanks. How have things been over there?” 

“They’re good. You know, quiet.” 

“Yeah.”

With a couple more words, the call was over. At the disconnecting click, the warmth that had been spreading inside her seemed to turn so hot suddenly that it burned her. Her smile stayed in place as if it forgot its purpose and just stood, not knowing where to go. Acid ran through her veins, and she tasted bile at the back of her throat.

She was happy, of course she was. No one deserved to move on and up in life as much as Cho did. He was an amazing person, an amazing agent and he deserved this. He would be extremely happy in his path and Lisbon wished him all the best, and in her heart, she knew he would succeed. Her heart, apparently, also knew other things, judging by the ache now permeating her chest. Whatever her traitorous insides were trying to tell her, though, they better shut the fuck up. That’s what all the boxes were for, after all. All these unspoken parts. 

* * *

After that, a celebration for the year endured seemed like a must. She needed to prove, to herself at least, that she was where she needed to be. To shut herself up. That this was _not_ just a self preservation hole she had dug herself, but that this was a road she had chosen to walk. A beautiful path. A _fucking awesome_ path. 

Winter was starting, so Lisbon decided that a barbecue in her backyard while it wasn’t cold enough was just the way to go. She invited Martini, his wife, Donna, their kids, Henry and both of her next door neighbors, Mrs. Doyle and Mrs. Paine. 

Mrs. Doyle’s husband, Jack, whom Lisbon only knew in passing before now, decided to commandeer the grill, and Lisbon couldn’t really say no, because, honestly, she had no idea how to properly operate one. This weird suburban-like life wasn’t something she had ever expected to live, really. Last time she had anything even remotely close to this she had been too little to be allowed near the fire. 

She looked around at everyone, laughing, drinking their beers, the kids running around while Jack got started on the food, and she finally felt the weight starting to lift from her shoulders, the status quo reasserting itself, the nothingness taking place, once again. This once, however, it came accompanied with determination. It wasn’t the best, but it was what she had. And she would be a fool to not take advantage of it, and she was no fool. She needed to do something. She needed to _try._ These people here, they could be _something_ , even if that something was a second best.

And then someone knocked on her door. 

Confused, with all her guests already in her backyard, Lisbon proceeded with caution, taking her gun from her locked bedroom, having hidden it from the kids, before going for the front door. Looking through the window however, she already put her gun on the back of her pants and smiled openly. 

“Surprise, Boss!” Grace and Wayne said together, as soon as she opened the door, greeting her with a hug. 

“Hey! Guys! What are you two doing here?” Lisbon answered, a laugh bubbling out of her chest before she could stop it. This was a surprise that she truly wasn’t expecting, and she couldn’t be happier for it. 

Maybe this was it. The push she needed in the right direction. The final step for her past and present to blend together. 

“We couldn’t let this day pass, right? And we thought a visit was in order, it’s been ages since we actually had some face to face time together.” 

Grace handed her the bottle of wine she was holding as they all entered the house. 

Lisbon took them both to the backyard and made the introductions. She could see everyone’s curiosity piqued at the sudden glimpse into the mysterious new addition to their town’s past, even if no one but Mrs. Doyle and Mrs. Paine really had the courage to actually question them on it.

Wayne and Martini soon got engrossed in talking about some sort of new weapons training that was happening all over the west coast. Lisbon tried to be interested, but she couldn’t pay attention enough to grasp any of it, having to run around having to play host with everyone. She got news about how Rigsby’s Security was doing from overhearing Grace telling Mrs. Doyle about their life in California. Fortunately, nothing about Lisbon herself ended up being revealed. Seemed they instinctively understood her need to keep her past life in the past. 

Even with her reservations and worries, the day passed without so much as a hitch, and, as she said goodbye to everyone and prepared the guest bedroom for Grace and Wayne to spend the weekend in, she finally felt herself relax. Lisbon felt extremely tired from the day’s events, and the Rigsbys were ready for bed after all the traveling, so they called it in early. 

At night Lisbon seemed to have both an easier and harder time falling asleep. The presence of her friends just a couple doors down warmed her soul, and if she wanted, if she tried hard enough, she could close her eyes and pretend that they were all just away on a case. On the other hand, it was strikingly clear that that wasn’t what was going on here, and the contrast between what _was_ and what _is_ haunted her hours, both asleep and awake. 

Sleep did eventually claim her, as it did every night, for a few hours of restless dreams and asphyxiating nightmares. 

Their plane tickets back were only for Monday morning, so, the following day, Lisbon showed them around town, stopping for breakfast at the cafe, and ending at the station, so she could bring back paperwork that she had intended to read during the weekend, but now wouldn’t be able to. She tried not to wince once they entered her office, realizing how utterly boring her job must _look_. Especially to them, who had shared in on the adventures of time past. 

For a moment, she dreaded looking up at them and seeing _pity_. She had come here to escape _especially_ that, the pity and the patronizing kindness of others. She wouldn’t be able to handle it, not if it came from them. As hard as she tried, she was sure that, to those who knew her well, the fraying cloak of normalcy on top of her life could be seen for what it really was: a rotten piece of trash she was holding onto for dear life because it was all she had left. 

She hoped against hope that they wouldn’t take it away from her. 

When she finally faced them, preparing for the worst, however, nothing but happiness and content for their friend could be seen in their faces. She exhaled a breath she didn’t know she was holding. If they saw the tension in her entire being, the way the lines of her shoulders seemed just a bit too sharp, if her breath was just a bit abnormal, like there was too much air and too little oxygen, then they pretended they didn’t see. 

Lisbon prepared a nice dinner for Grace and Wayne’s last day visiting. She laughed, telling them it was payment for all the times she ate at their place back in Sacramento, in those first few months. They all shared the wine bottle. Grace refused. The nagging awareness that that fact should _mean_ something stood stark in the back of Lisbon’s mind. She refused to do anything with it, however. 

After, they sat in her living room, finishing their drinks. In the next lull in conversation, her mind started wandering. The wine was actually a very nice red, she should take a look at the label, later to see if she could find it on her next trip to Seattle. She commented as much to the other two. 

“Actually, that’s also one of the reasons we came.” Wayne said, his hand coming to rest on top of Grace’s. 

“What, to bring me a new bottle of wine? You didn’t have to come all the way from California for that.” Lisbon teased, trying to lighten the mood. 

“We’re pregnant!” Grace blurted out, not even acknowledging Lisbon’s quip. 

Lisbon's hand closed sharply around the glass, feeling suddenly very faint. She didn’t know if she was more afraid that it’d slip down and shatter or that it’d break from her tight hold onto it.

“Oh my god! That’s amazing news!” She said, maybe a second too late, finally finding her voice.

The smiles on their faces were so big that Lisbon felt like Grace and Wayne’s faces would split open any moment. She could feel hers doing the same. 

“How far along are you?” 

“Three months. We just started telling people, and we wanted you to be one of the first to know, Boss.” 

Her heart both broke and warmed at the words. She completely ignored the pain and tried to suffuse herself in the happiness of the moment. 

“Please, I’m not your boss anymore.” 

They all chuckled quietly at the line that had become a staple in their relationship in the past year. It still seemed to have no effect on the other two. 

“I’m so, so happy for you both. This kid is gonna be so lucky.” 

Later that night, when she was lying down in bed, she prayed for the new family. She prayed for their safety, that their children would be healthy, that they would lead a happy, fulfilling life as a family. She prayed for Cho, that he did good in the Academy, that he turned out to be an amazing agent. She prayed for Jane, that he healed, that he found his way, that he found happiness. She prayed for herself, she prayed for sleep, she prayed for her brain to shut up, she prayed that she wouldn’t feel, she prayed and she prayed, but nothing seemed to help. The contentment that she had managed to douse herself in for the last hours of their evening was finally cracking, the protections around her heart were ripping at the seams, and she wasn’t sure how to make they stay in place. 

The poison that she had kept so well hidden away, the ugliness of everything that had passed, that she had pretended so well wasn’t there that she had started forgetting about herself, was leaking from her insides, spilling from all the secret places she was hiding it in, and she was afraid it was starting to taint even the good, even the things she had managed to keep untouched by the putridness of the past year. 

She was becoming someone whose entire being was a rotten carcass, filled with pain and resentment, and the space for happiness, for love for those around her, seemed to be disappearing. Lisbon could see it happening, and she felt terrified at how completely paralized it left her. 

How do you run away from the ruins when what is crumbling around you is yourself? 

She didn’t cry. She didn’t remember the last time she had done it, actually. Probably before this whole thing had even started. At this point, she had no idea if she even had any tears. Maybe the storm inside her leached away everything, even the tears, even the happiness, even the most pure love she could feel for others. Leaving behind the grotesque remains of her agony. 

When she fell asleep, she didn’t know how long later, one thought stood loud in her mind. One thought that permeated every single one of her hours, asleep or awake. 

_When is it my turn? When will it be my time to be happy?_

* * *

After all the whirlwind of activity around the anniversary, Lisbon couldn’t help but feel disconcerted when the next week rolled around and everything seemed… normal. Or the new normal that represented the past 6 months, at least. Back to the routine of everyday life. Back to the quiet oppressive nihility. 

Inside herself, however, something seemed to have _shifted_. She didn’t know why, she didn’t know if she even wanted to know. But now, it was as if every wall she had managed to build back up in the past year was about to crumble. All the threads, all the boxes, all the metaphors, everything, one wrong breath from falling apart. As if she was walking, once again on uncertain terrain, blindfolded, and a cliff was somewhere nearby. She could feel its presence, its strength, she could feel its calling, telling her to give in. She was one step from falling into it and never managing to climb her way out. 

The best course of action, Lisbon felt, was to keep it to the safe side, to do what she had been doing, because it had been _working._ No matter what, she still hadn’t been completely destroyed. Her entire life had been uprooted, her sense of self stripped away, everything that made her who she was burned to ashes, but she still hadn’t broken. That had to count for something. That had to mean it was working. So she had to march on. With all the rockiness, it wasn’t time to shake anything up. It was time for the tried and true. 

So that’s what she went with. Ignore it she did. One foot in front of the other, and eventually, the allure of letting go of all the pain would ease, and _she_ would go back to _normal_. She was sure that if she held on just long enough, she would get back on her feet, she would get her bearings back. She had almost been there, after all. A set back was just that: a set back. Nothing less, nothing more. 

She could do this. 

And she did. She kept on going with her days, ignoring the torturing trail she was walking.

Exactly thirteen days after the barbecue, Jane’s next letter arrived. _Yes_ , she told herself, _that’s exactly what I need_. Lisbon could already feel her grip on reality becoming a bit stronger, just by holding the white envelope in her hand, as she scurried back home. The black car at the end of the street didn’t even register in her mind, with her haste to get back inside.

This was her hail mary, the thing that would tip the scales back in her favor. A helping hand. And of course it would come from Jane. _Of course._

She put the letter in the box with all the others, saving it to be read at the end of the day, probably in her bathtub, with a glass of wine, while she was relaxing. Most of his letters were read in that manner: she’d set herself a nice space, quiet, peaceful. Just enough to feel like the letters themselves were a caress, that Jane himself was comforting her from afar. Like he was quietly letting her know everything that stood between the written and unwritten lines. 

Truthfully, at this point, Lisbon would do whatever needed to be done to give herself the boost she needed, and if that meant indulging in decadent rituals that didn’t really change anything, but _could_ , if she believed enough, then she would. She was just desperate enough to try anything. And if a glass of wine, some bubbles and _Jane_ could do the trick, so be it. 

She left her house with a new spring in her step, hopeful, that she would now get her bearings. That this shitty patch was just that, a moment of weakness and that after tonight, everything inside her would fall neatly back into place. 

The patrol car felt cozy and warm once she entered it. The contrast between the outside and the inside, the biting cold against her fingers and the tip of her nose was just enough to remind her that she was alive, and not just adrift through time and space. She allowed herself a smile at her own silliness, at taking such small moments more into account than the big ones. Maybe allowing herself these small things was what she needed to do this right. 

The black car only passed through the haze of thoughts in her mind when she was pulling off of her driveway. 

_Oh no._

_No. No. No._ _No._

She slowed down as she passed it. It was parked in front of Mrs. Paine gate. State plates, no one inside. 

Lisbon sucked in a breath and slammed her foot on the gas pedal, running to the station. She tried not to let her mind get too clouded, not to panic. Chances were, they were just here to know if she knew anything new about Jane. Which she _didn’t_ , she told herself. The FBI didn’t care about Jane’s innermost thoughts, his fears or his nightmares. She had no information that was of any use for them. 

She didn’t remember the car ride, she didn’t remember arriving at the station, but the next thing she knew, Lisbon was sitting at her desk, Henry bringing her a cup of coffee. She gave him a polite smile, trying not to show the mess in her mind. _You have honest eyes_ , she remembered Jane saying more than once. 

She made sure to not look Henry in the eyes. Just to be sure.

After 15 minutes of trying to concentrate on the report in front of her, Lisbon was still on the first page. She wasn’t sure if it was her mind that was too full to absorb anything, the blurriness of her vision, or the headache that had been pounding her skull from the moment she saw the black SUV on her block. But the truth was that work was the last thing on her mind. Everything but the very pressing matter of the FBI canvasing her neighborhood was the last thing on her mind. 

It was not like she was a fugitive or had broken any laws by coming here, she tried to reason with herself. No, she wasn’t in any trouble. She knew that already. But her life could just as well be completely ruined if too many questions were asked by the locals. Lisbon had moved here to start over, to not have to be looked at with pity, to not have to deal with Red John anymore, to not fear for her life, to not spend entire days on end wondering what she had done wrong, where she could’ve made her life be a little less chaotic than it was. This was her chance at not being a complete mess, her chance of taking control of what happened to her, of not being a puppet in someone else’s game, of finally trying to live her life for herself. She couldn’t have the FBI ruining it all for her. 

She also couldn’t ruin it all for _Jane_. She couldn’t have them suspect that she was in contact with him, because she knew that, with the FBI’s resources, they would be able to track him by the letters. He had described his island in great detail, its weather, its scenery, his apartment, even his damn new clothes were written about there somewhere. And there’s also whatever means he was using to get them to her. No. The letters needed to be kept secret at all costs. 

Lisbon needed to get herself under control. If the FBI wanted to talk to her and they saw her like this, they’d know right away that something was wrong. She took a deep breath and counted, remembering one of the many techniques Jane had taught her over the years to mask her outward reaction from others. _Breathe in, one, two, three, breathe out, one, two, three._

By the moment Henry knocked on her door, 45 minutes later, to tell her an FBI agent wanted to talk to her, she felt a little bit more like herself. 

Show time. 

“Hello, Chief Lisbon. I’m Agent Annabelle Jennings, from the local FBI office. Agent Dennis Abbott, from the Austin FBI field office asked me to come see you, I’m told you two already know each other.” 

The tall, blonde, willowy woman towered over Lisbon, even when she got up to shake her hand. She was sure that wasn’t proposital, but she tried not to think about it either. No point in getting nervous over stupid things. There was already too much to worry about. Too much at stake. 

“Yes, Agent Abbott and I know each other. What is the purpose of your visit, Agent Jennings?” 

Lisbon gestured to the seat on the other side of the desk and the agent sat down. The woman had no files, and she seemed to be alone, so Lisbon guessed this visit was more on the… informal side. Hopefully her “security detail” wouldn’t be put back to work. Hopefully. 

“We just wanted to know if you haven’t heard from Patrick Jane in the past year. Any new communication that the FBI should be made aware of?” 

“None.” 

“Are you certain?” 

Lisbon didn’t hesitate. “Yes.” 

“What about the rest of your previous team?” 

“What about them?”

Agent Jennings shifted in her seat, looking around her office. Lisbon tried not to be self conscious of her workspace. 

“You still in contact with them? They still in contact with Mr. Jane?” 

At that, Lisbon had to refrain from rolling her eyes with impatience. 

“I’m still in contact with two of them, Grace and Wayne Rigsby, which the FBI was already aware of. As for your other question, you will have to ask them.”

The agent then nodded, getting up, the whole action taking a couple seconds more than it should have. The exaggerated calmness was starting to grate on Lisbon. 

“That was all, then, Chief Lisbon. Thank you for your time.” 

Lisbon nodded but didn’t get up. 

As she was leaving, Jennings turned around and said “We may drop by again in the next few months. I look forward to it. Had never come to Cannon River before, seems like a nice enough place.” 

Lisbon nodded again, hoping her control would last another thirty seconds. 

As soon as the door of her office closed however, Lisbon dropped any pretence of appearing calm. Her breathing was coming fast, in gasps. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ Why the fuck were they wanting to talk to her again? Something must be wrong, they must have found something. Six months of nothing and then suddenly, a “we will talk to you again in a few months”? That meant progress. That meant they had something. That meant Jane was in danger. 

Oh God, what was she gonna do? She had absolutely no way of letting him know, of getting word back to him. There was nothing she could _do._ And this time, it was all her fault, for real, if something happened to him. 

And what about her own life? Half of the town must already be aware that the FBI had been looking for her. It was now only a matter of time before her life became the topic of the town gossip, before the mistakes of her past dominated every single aspect of her being again. What the hell was she gonna do? What could she even do?

She got up, put her phone back in her purse, she hadn’t taken anything out of it in her panicked state when she arrived. She gave Henry a quick word that she wouldn’t be back for the day, and to tell Officer Martini that he was in charge. And then she went home. She didn’t stay long enough to ask if Henry understood, as she usually did. 

The drive back home passed in a blur. For the second time that day, she thanked God for small town traffic, because in Sacramento, she’d’ve been as good as dead. The silly thought in the middle of the cloudy panic that was her mind at the moment made Lisbon snicker, momentarily forgetting herself. 

The moment she got out of the car, however, the brief reprieve was over, as she saw Mrs. Paine waving at her. 

“Teresa, darling! A woman came by your house earlier today, said she was looking for you. I told her you were probably at work. Looked like police of some sort.” 

_Fuck_. The gossip was gonna spread faster than she thought. 

She smiled and hoped it didn’t look as fake as it felt. 

“Thank you Mrs. Paine! I’ll make sure to send you some of those cookies from Seattle later this week when I go there!” 

“Oh, Thank you Teresa! You’re a sweetheart!” 

The next smile Lisbon shot her was a pained one. She quickly ducked inside the house before the woman could question it. 

She let out a breath and tried to empty her whole mind. Lisbon shook her head, to see if that would help. She needed a plan. She needed a plan and she needed it quickly. Her mind, however, didn’t seem to be cooperating. It felt like all her thoughts were disintegrating before she could so much as string two of them together. 

Lisbon picked herself up, went to sit on her couch. This wouldn’t do. She was a trained cop, for fuck's sake. Teresa Lisbon didn’t panic in the face of adversities. She planned. She strategized. She devised a clear plan of action and went for it. But all she could see right now was all the possible shit that could blow on her face, all the ways she could ruin everything for herself and for Jane, and she felt paralized. Rooted to the spot. Chained by her own fear. 

Suddenly, a thought struck her. She made a beeline for her bedroom, fishing for the box at her bedside table. Maybe, just maybe, with a lifeline in her hand, with a few words of encouragement, maybe if she stepped into his shoes, then maybe she would be the genius for once and find a way out for them. She didn’t care if what she was truly looking for was comfort, if she was hiding behind the rationalization of this act, she didn’t care if this was anything other than an excuse so she could look for Jane in times of need again, she couldn’t care less. This was all she had right now, and that’s what she was going with. 

Lisbon opened the box with all the care in the world, just as she did so many times before, more times than she could even remember. She took a deep breath, the smell of the paper and a couple of cloves she left inside the box already bringing some much needed clarity. For a moment, everything seemed fine again. For an infinitely small space of time, being faced with the visual representation of his love for her filled her with hope. Wonder, hope and pain, all wrapped up in 20 something nondescript envelopes. 

She didn’t know what to do with them. She didn’t know if she should burn it all down so that they couldn’t use it, if she should keep on pretending they didn’t exist. All she knew was that, right now, she needed comfort. She needed to know that all this had a purpose, that it wasn’t all for nothing. That somewhere out there in the world was someone who understood her. Who was going through the same things she was going through. The only other person who knew what was deep inside her heart. Whom she could count on to share the worst parts of herself. 

The outside part of the latest envelope ended up ripped in her haste to open it. She read the words in the paper as if starved, a parched woman in a desert, in need of refreshment, in need of a sliver of _something_ to keep her going. She waited for the hope and the love to pour into her famished soul, filling it with the last good thing that hadn’t been tainted in the past year. With the last thread of sanity keeping her from falling. 

But with every new word, she could feel the heartbreak so deeply it was as if she was suddenly thrown into an ice pit. From head to toe, numbness took her so sharply, that needles pierced her skin from the inside out. 

She read the letter twice more. 

She should’ve been careful with what she wished for, because she got exactly what she wanted. She suddenly saw herself being filled to the brim. The elation and complete heartbreak she felt at the same time on top of everything else was so overwhelming that she simply shattered, unable to keep all that inside. 

_Ask and you shall receive_ , her brain supplied, unhelpfully. She asked to be fed, and fed she was. With every new word on his latest letter, his happiness touched her, and she felt herself hardening against it. His sweetness turned to poison once it reached her. This happiness that she had prayed for, that she had hoped against hope could exist, that she had tried so hard to latch onto would be what would ruin in the end. 

The moment she realized what was happening, it was already too late, the damage already done. There was nothing left tethering her, there was nothing left to be tethered to. There were no boxes, because there was no _her_ anymore. There was nothing left. Undone by the stroke of a pen, undone by the realization that life had gone on, and she had stayed. 

The moment she realized she had moved close to the edge, she had already been falling. She was so fucking stupid. How could she think she could’ve kept herself together on hope alone? Hope for what, exactly? What was there to hope for? 

With shaking hands and a mind running so fast she couldn’t make sense of most of it, she put the letter back in the box, feeling as if she was resting her heart right beside it. She gently closed it. With all the care in the word she put the box back in its place. 

He was happy. That was all that she had ever wanted for him. He was finally, _finally_ , managing to find his way. He did it. 

She smiled at the thought. And then, the next second, she cried. She cried like she hadn’t cried in years, like she couldn’t stop, like her entire existence depended on it. Like all her hopes, dreams, every single good thing that had previously existed inside her, however hidden it was, were leaving her through the tears and she was mourning their loss. 

She was truly alone. She was holding onto a dream that was never coming to pass. She was an idiot. 

They had all moved on, and she was here, nursing broken pieces of a life that didn’t exist anymore. 

She cried because she had never felt so overjoyed and miserable at the same time. 

All the most important people in her life were happy, they were all moving forward, they were all living life to its fullest. And she loved them so much for their strength to do so. She could feel herself bursting at the seams with the love she couldn’t quite hold in for all the people who had accompanied her through hell and come out victorious for it. She couldn’t help but be happy that she was allowed to bask in their light. 

But she had stayed behind. The suffering and the sorrow and the agony had weighed her down, and she hadn’t realized it until it was too late. She had latched onto her pain, because she knew it, because it had been the only thing that stayed the same from her old life, and it had been so heavy that she tired herself trying to carry a dead weight. She had done what she had promised herself she never would: she had gotten so caught up in her own shit that she didn’t move forward. She had lost by forfeit.

She was so fucking tired and she had been such a fucking idiot. She was living in hell, and it was a hell of her own making. Maybe she should just give up. Her life felt heavy, her entire being felt heavy. She didn’t know what to do with any of it anymore. Maybe there was nothing left to salvage, maybe it was all just a colossal waste of time. Maybe her destiny had been fulfilled, and she was doomed to spend the rest of her days wandering, purposeless. Maybe she had dug herself into a hole so fucking deep there was no way out of it. 

In the end it was not Red John nor Patrick Jane who were her downfall. It was herself. 

God, she fucking hated whoever this was that she had become. 

She cried herself to sleep that night. 

* * *

_Dear Lisbon,_

_I know my last couple of letters haven’t painted a nice picture, and I’m sorry if my gloominess worried you. I know that you will worry regardless, however, so I will try to bring you something that won’t worry you with this._

_Today, something incredible happened. I woke up, and I was happy. I honestly couldn’t remember the last time I felt so utterly complete and free. My past felt not like a burden, but like a beautiful room full of vibrant pictures I still got to visit. The good times outweighed the bad, and it was marvelous. It’s been a year, exactly, as I’m writing this, and I feel like I’m finally ready. Ready to try. Ready to move on._

_I can’t say it’s all behind me now, that would be a lie, and I’m trying to be as honest as I can in these. But what I can tell is that today the sun seems to shine brighter. I feel like its warmth is finally reaching me. Summer is starting again, and I can already feel that this one will be better. Brighter. Who knows what the future will bring? For once, I’m looking forward to it._

_I hope these words bring you hope, Lisbon. There is happiness on the other side. For people like us. People who lost everything._

_I miss you terribly, and there’s no one I wish I could share this moment with more than you._

_U no hoo_


End file.
